A Series of One Shots
by R3dl1ne
Summary: This 'story' is a series of un-related one shots that I wrote some years ago. They are all un-betad, and I've no inclination to do anything further with them at this point. If you get inspiration, and write from any of them, that's awesome, jut send me a link to the story so I can read it. I will add additional one-shots to this 'story' as I write them.
1. Shot 1: Clarity

**A/n: This is a series of one shots that I wrote some years ago. They are all un-betad, and I've no inclination to do anything further with them. If you get inspiration, and write from them, that's awesome, jut send me a link to the story so I can read it.**

Shot 1

It was the slapping of the rain on the mud next to face that woke me up. As I slowly opened my eyes, pain wracked my body, leaving me feeling like I'd been given shock treatment. Minutes passed, and I found myself still unable to move. It was almost if I was paralysed; my brain was telling my arms to move and roll me over, but the signal wasn't getting through.

_More rain_

I was cold now. A shiver made its way up and down my body as I closed my eyes again, I could taste dirt in my mouth, and as I moved my tongue around, I discovered I had some loose teeth.

_What the hell happened_? I wondered.

I suddenly realised I had no idea where I was, or how I got there, so I tried to think back to the last place I could remember being last night. It was like being sucker punched in the gut, and having the stuffing knocked out of you. I was empty as a bottle of milk that had been used up.

I realised the rain was starting to ease off. _Thank God for that_

There were tumbleweeds blowing about in my mind. All I could feel was pain, and the cold of the wind and rain, but inside, I was like a candy store raided by ten year olds with endless pocket money. I couldn't remember anything.

_Crap_.

I fell back to sleep. When I woke up, I felt light. Not light weight, as if I could float, but light, as in a spirit who can move without a body holding it to the earth. That thought seemed to trigger something inside of me, and I don't know if a great weight lifted, or if a switch was thrown turning me back on, but I was able to roll over onto my back.

I immediately wished I hadn't. The only thing I got to see was a boot coming down on my face. Hard.


	2. Shot 2: Life

Life sucks.

Its just that simple. You spend your whole childhood carefree, swimming in the river with your mates, and then you grow up and get caught in the stress of adult life, constantly fighting a battle swimming upstream.

It's damn lonely as well. I'm here now, surrounded by a whole bunch of friends, and I feel completely alone. Just one salmon jammed in against all the others. And it's wet too. It makes me feel cold and clammy as I move around, and I swear I can feel the water running down my back. It's like putting on wet clothes. It just feels uncomfortable.

_Sigh._

Swimming upstream every day; thats what it means to be an adult apparently. Swim upstream your whole life, unable to break out of the pattern and do something different. I want to be able to relax; to learn to hit a homerun, to spend time with my family and not be working all the time.

And then theres the dreaded mid-life crisis; the obstacle in life. Some of us get past it, and go on to live long lives. Others, well, they don't do so well and the jaws of death snap around them. Take Mick for example; he hit the obstacle yesterday apparently. Now he's gone, just like that. Plucked from the water of life and never to be seen again. I'm due to hit it soon. I'm not looking forward to it. It's so random. It doesn't matter what you do, because it's luck of the draw whether you get eaten or not.

Damn I hate being a fish.


	3. Shot 3: Equity

The area was full of journalists shouting questions at Little Johnny.

"...well as you all know, Matt, I'm a prize thoroughbred. For this to happen to me is ghastly. I'm better then this. But that's the joys of being a thoroughbred horse.

"Bil Smith, from Horsing Around, " shouted one of the journalist, waving his microphone towards Johnny, "can you tell you tell us exactly what happened in the race?"

The room suddenly went still, thick with tension that could have been cut with a spoon wielded by a lollipop sucking four year old child. Johnny's eyes went vacant as he remembered back to the idyllic day.

"We all lined up in the starting gates, just like normal. I had a good gate, number four. Not right on the inside, where you can get stuck in the middle of the pack if you don't have a good start, but not away on the outside where you have to make your way in to have any chance of winning. I got a good start, and went out in front by a length, there was the usual jostling as we jockeyed for position and space leading around the front half of the track."

Johnny's eyes went misty as he continued to remember what happened.

"Leading into the home straight, I was half a length off the pace. I'd been so long coming second and third I decided THIS race was going to be mine. This time _I'd_ get first place. So I'm racing down the home straight, neck and neck with Pharaohs Dreams, and suddenly I went tumbling head over hind. The next thing I know, I'm lying there, shrieking in agony, my rider unconscious, and the rest of the pack thundering by, showering me with dirt and grass, and all I can think of is 'it's my leg. It's my damn freaking leg'."

"I've had problems with it my whole career. Sprained my ankle early on but that was able to be healed and I was just now coming into prime as a racer. And now I've broken it. If I had two legs, I'd be fine. They'd put me in a cast and let it heal. But oh no, not me, not with _four_ legs that'd be to hard. What's that? I'm leaking sarcasm? _Sorry_ Bill, I'd wipe it up for you, but ya know, I'm for the knackery. I'll set as fast as I run though, so I'll be good glue to have around."

At that word the whole crowd went into an uproar, shouting out questions as if they'd only just realised they were about to run out of time with the star thoroughbred. Cries of _"equity for equines!"_ sprouted out amongst a few onlookers, but it was all to no avail. Little Johnny, winner of the Grand National last year, was led off to be made into glue. For the simple crime of having four legs, and breaking one of them.


	4. Shot 4: Death

Every morning I wake up and look at the mirror. And every morning it's empty. I keep hoping that one day I'll see something. Anything, even a vague outline would help. But that's not my lot in life.

Heh. Life. Not what I lead. It's more of an existence without end. I've been doing it so long now I don't even remember a beginning. If there was one.

I better get ready for work. An almost scalding hot shower might help. But as always, no.

Predicting the future is easy. Just look to your past because without an intervening force the next thirty years will be the same as the last thirty years.

I don't know why I keep expecting something different. There must be a small part of humanity left.

I towel off an wander into my walk-in wardrobe. Glad I built the ensuite next to it. What shall I wear today? The black cloak with silver trim? Or should I go for something a little outrageous and wear the silver with black trim?

What a dilemma.

_Sigh_.

No one will notice either way. That's the whole future / past thing again.

Time to go. I'll take Old Bessie. She's always been reliable. Cuts through bone like butter, and I've got a lot to do today. Lots of old chaff to cut down. Some new chaff too. I don't know which is harder.

Sigh. I wish I knew how to hand the role on. I'm been doing it to long now.

The worst part of it isn't even the job itself. Call my a psychopath for enjoying my work, I know I fill a vital role, it's the lack of recognition.

Just once, just ONCE I want someone to tell me I'm doing a good job. But no, they can't see me. How could they see a spirit? Some of them can sense me, and animals certainly can.

But mostly it just get on with my job. Thankless and lonely.

Why do I do it, you ask?

I shrug.

Someone has to be Death. That someone is me.


	5. Shot 5: Style

Everything felt light and airy, while the flowers were standing proudly in full bloom as the bees harvested their pollen. The air itself was singing with joy about the new day as the children raced about squealing with delight.

It was a grand old day, the stuff of Disney movies, and fairy tales. At any moment I felt like I would see the Seven Dwarves, or Cinderella wander across my path.

But nothing could take away the sense of flying and lightness. It was magical. I felt I was superman and could leap a tall building with a single bound.

Then I woke up.

_Oh._

I wasn't flying. Well, technically I was, it was just a matter of perspective. What I was actually doing I was falling in style, as my 1966 Chevy Impala, fully restored and in immaculate condition, soared out from the road, have pushed through the guardrail as if it was incorporeal, with more and more of the cliff rushing past every second, headed down towards the rocks.

At least I'm going out in style I suppose.


End file.
